


Wish You Were Here: Midpollo Drabbles

by Punk Pony (Two_Spirit)



Category: Midnighter (Comics), Midnighter and Apollo (Comics), The Authority, WildStorm
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, Gen, Headcanon, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_Spirit/pseuds/Punk%20Pony
Summary: A collection of the many short drabbles and half finished thoughts/stories I've accumulated over the years regarding Apollo and Midnighter's relationship. Most drabbles will be Wildstorm universe specific, but occasionally I take inspiration from the DC/Steve Orlando run of Midnighter and Apollo as well.





	1. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Universe: Wildstorm, post _The Authority: Revolution_ (may require knowledge of this run to understand)  
> Characters: WS Apollo, WS Midnighter, (mentions) WS Jenny Quantum

So, here’s the thing.  

          There was a time, ( ~~not so~~ ) long ago, when the only thing in this multiverse that Apollo could truly be certain of, the only  **constant**  worth setting his compass by…was the Midnighter. It might seem strange, considering Mid’s track record with volatility and his generally reticent nature, but only if a person was on the outside looking in. 

          See, the so-called Sun King was little more than a trope unto to himself. He didn’t know his name (his _real_ name, something beyond a single word that felt more like a title than a moniker), didn’t know what kind of person he was, who he might have been if Bendix hadn’t remade him into this  _would-be god_ , but… he knew this. The Midnighter loved him, and nobody –  _ **nothing**  –_ could kill that. 

         Except. There wasn’t a thing born in this mulitverse that ‘Nighter  _himself_ couldn’t kill. 

         And Mid left. Walked out the door, out of their lives, without so much as an explanation lingering in his wake. After everything, after  _coming back from the goddamned dead._ And Apollo, who had never known a world without at least the  _hope_ of Midnighter in it, felt as though a vital organ had been torn from his chest and thrown out the airlock. 

         It was like losing himself all over again, like regaining consciousness that icy metal table in Henry Bendix’s labs and not knowing what the timbre of his  _own fucking voice_  inside his head should sound like. All the things he’d thought he’d been, reflected back in Midnighter’s eyes? Were  **gone.**

        And it took  _months_ of existing like a ghost before the world came back into focus. Months of lost days operating on autopilot (and only for Jenny, because she didn’t deserve to lose  **both**  of her fathers); of endless evenings curled tight in a bed too large even for a man as massive as Apollo. He didn’t have bodily functions, but the Sun King still might have died for want of light had the Carrier not regularly rotated through UV enriched dimensions, always turning the room’s windows towards the rays, its own effort to console a battered tenant.  

         Months gone before Apollo (the god who didn’t  _need_   _to breathe_ ) felt like he could take a breath again. Until the phantom pain of reaching for a body,  _a mind,_ that wasn’t there would start to (but never fully) fade. Longer still before he felt something like  **himself**  again… 

        Then The Midnighter came back. And  _Henry Bendix_ came back. And all the things that Apollo had been trying to diligently unlearn for the better part of four years came rushing back as well, like puzzle pieces made misshapen by time. Nothing fit anymore, not like it used to. 

         Because Apollo’s  _ **heart** , _unlike the rest of him, can’t be rent apart and put back together again, made impervious through callous experimentation. It can’t be unbroken once the damage is done.   

                      And the damage? It’s fucking  ** _done._**


	2. Sincerely Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Midpollo Week 2018, using the Day 5 prompt: High School AU
> 
> Universe: Wildstorm based; HighSchool!AU  
> Pairing: Apollo/Midnighter (pre-slash)  
> Description: The first time Apollo saw him, The Midnighter gave him a boner in public without even trying.

 

* * *

**_T_** he first time Apollo saw him, The Midnighter gave him a boner in public without even trying. 

       Okay, so maybe it wasn’t technically the  _first_  time he’d seen the guy people called ‘Midnighter’ (is that his name? No judgment, not when half the football team chants ’ _Sun King_ ’ at Apollo on game-day, like it’s some kind of inside joke). Small town like this, everyone’s  _seen_  everyone at one point or another, especially when you share a high school. But having a person living in your periphery wasn’t the same as actually  _seeing_  them for the first time. And that’s what this was. Really,  _Truly **Seeing.**_

                     Jesus Fuck, he was  ** _gorgeous._**   

    The Midnighter – considered a local street punk, degenerate, and all-around  _scourge_  of the school faculty – was in actuality a lean panther of a man, packed with the kind of muscles that were invisible to those not smart enough to look for them (people like Apollo’s fellow teammates, meatheads that assumed mass equaled power). His face was all angles, sharp as razor wire, and the way his cheekbones stood out when he pulled a long drag off that cigarette was downright  _pornographic._  Apollo could feel himself twitching in his jeans, just watching it. Again,  _Jesus Fuck._ __  
__  
The Sun King shifted where he sat half-propped on the track field bleachers, sliding his eyes away before one of the other footballers could follow his stare. As per usual during free period, Apollo was surrounded by his team, varsity _first string_  for the Stormwatch High School Football Team (“Go Sparx!”). As their Star Quarterback, the guys looked to him with sycophantic devotion, expecting the blonde to lead them to victory at nationals just like he’d done for the past  _three years_. Yeah, the Sun King had been varsity as a freshman. What could he say, it was like he’d been  _engineered_  to do this.   
  
    The team loved him, the Coaches loved him, the whole damn school loved him.  _Except._  Except Midnighter, an anomaly,  _ **The Exception**_ , who could exhale cigarette smoke through his nose and send Apollo’s blood rushing straight to his  _dick_  while doing it.   
  
    He thought he might be in   **l o v e**.

     “—hey, guys… _Guys_..” The Sun King interrupted his chattering teammates mid-stream, attention once again drawn away to the leather-clad man slouching in the shadows of the bleachers. He shrugged his letterman jacket back up onto his shoulders and pushed up from sitting on the upper benches, flashing his confused posse a winning smile. “…I’ll catch up with you all later, cool?”   
  
      The protests were expected (particularly from his Left Tackle. Stalker had a hell of a protective streak), but Apollo waved them off with an absent air, stepping down the length of the bleachers until he reached the hard packed dirt lining the field. Ignoring the trailing stares from his bewildered friends, the QB sauntered over to where Midnighter was simultaneously grinding out a cigarette butt with his bootheel and lighting a fresh one with a matchstick, like fucking  **James Dean.**  
  
    Apollo paused before the shorter man, pale hair haloed by the sun at his back, and stuck his hands in his pockets. For a moment, he…. hesitated.   
  
                                              "…….. ‘ey"

* * *

        The Midnighter was having a shit morning. To be fair, most mornings were shit, especially when Principal Bendix had his frilly lace panties in a twist and was looking to take some of that impotent frustration out on a viable student. The bastard's threats were weak (Mid knows they won’t do anything; for all his behavioral issues, his test scores are phenomenal and they  **Need That** here to keep this prissy-ass school afloat on the charts), but the crumpled detention slip balled up in his pocket still has the leather clad man seething with quiet indignation. As if a Saturday in detention meant shit to him. It was better than going home.   

       But perhaps the  **worst**  part of this already garbage day was the fact that Midnighter found himself down to his last pack of cigarettes and he knew he wasn't getting paid for another three days. Nimble fingers worried at the opened cellophane in his palm, fresh stick lifted to his lips when some  _hulking mass_  threw a shadow across his face and blocked the sun entirely from view. 

       He didn't even have to look up to know who it was. Fucking  ** _Golden Boy._**

       It wasn't fair, that a man should be as pretty (and as fucking  _powerful_ ) as Apollo. The guy came off like something out of a terrible romance novel, all rippling pecs and windblown hair, it was  _Disgusting_. And fuck you, Midnighter wasn't  _looking_  but he also wasn't  **BLIND.**

        Mid hadn't the slightest clue why the most popular guy in school, star quarterback and student council vice president, would be standing in front of him during free-period, looking so bashful and tongue-tied that a person might forget he was capable of crushing his _skull_ into the  _dirt_. That person not being  **Midnighter** , who only hooked his mouth into a frown around the filter of his cigarette and glared up at Apollo from beneath his overly long lashes. 

        " _What?_ " He grunted, distracted from the growing heat at his fingertips, a warning that his lit match was steadily burning down. A quick flick of his wrist sent it sailing to join the graveyard of cig-butts scattered around his boots, and Mid twitched his gaze from the Sun King's shadowed face to the empty space behind him. No lackeys, though they're not far away.  _A Dare_ , maybe? The shorter man mentally calculated his odds, his frown deepening. 

                                 Oh, wait.    ** _OH NO._**

       Abruptly, the leather clad teen exhaled the cloud of smoke he'd been holding in his lungs, its dissipating trail catching the Sun King in the face. He shook his head, moving to step around the broad shouldered QB, muttering low enough so that only Apollo could hear him ".... Nah,  _not interested_ , Golden Boy." 

* * *

        Apollo had intended to say something witty, something  _pithy_  that would immediately earn him street-cred with Midnighter. But then Mid had shot him that narrow, steel-edged look, pinning him down with the kind of scrutiny that made the Sun King doubt his own voice.  He was suddenly very glad he had the blazing afternoon sun at his back because at least Midnighter couldn't read his expression as it fell from  **hopeful expectancy** into  _exceptional discomfort._

       As the seconds stretched awkwardly, Apollo finally opened his mouth, intending to blurt out some excuse to leave (it’s strategy, Apollo told himself, no shame in a strategic  _retreat_ ), but then shorter teen was exhaling a plume of smoke, blocking the Sun King's view of his lips as they formulated a response. 

        _Not Interested?_  ...Oh. Was Apollo really so  **Obvious?**

      A heartbeat of startling disappointment, unexpectedly sharp in his chest, and the Sun King felt more than saw Midnighter stepping around his form, a clear dismissal. The QB's cheeks reddened in embarrassment (Jesus, why didn’t he think this  **through??** They’re practically standing in front of the  _whole student body!!_ ), but he didn't let himself be deterred. Twisting around, Apollo was surprisingly graceful as he moved with Mid’s dodge, somehow managing to stay close without touching the shorter teen. He fell into step beside the Midnighter, as if they had always planned to walk from the field together. 

        “— **‘Not Interested’** in  _what?”_ The Sun King asked, pure innocence to his tone, hands shoving deeper into the pockets of his jeans as he resisted the urge to touch Mid's knife-blade cheekbone, “…you don’t even know what I was going to  ** _ask_** you..” 

         It’s almost believable, especially considering that Apollo  _himself_ hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He’d just hoped for some small talk, an opportunity to learn more about the mysterious teenager, maybe figure out if his lips were as soft as they  _looked_ wrapped around that cigarette— 

        The big Quarterback exhaled raggedly, darting his gaze sideways to his shorter companion to see if he’s noticed. The back of Apollo’s neck was burning, and it had nothing to do with the Sun. 

        "... C'mon." He murmured quietly, deliberately  _not_  slanting a look over his shoulder at the football team watching them leave the field. "...I'm not the things people say about me. Well..." Shrugging, the corner of the Sun King's mouth dimpled in an  _almost smile,_  "...not  **only**. What do you say to--" 

        "--- Do you have cigarettes? Midnighter cut him off, sounding bored and irritated all at once. His shoulders were hiked up around his ears, like he was waiting for a football to the back of the head. 

        "...Uh...no." Apollo licked his lips, searching for words, "... But I could _buy_ some." He wasn't 18 yet, but the Sun King was so  _large_ , people tended to assume he was of age for just about  **anything**. 

       Slowing to a halt in the parking lot outside the school, the Midnighter stared at Apollo for a long, hard moment. His expression was so fierce, so  _torn_ , that the Sun King thought he might blow him off again. But finally Mid's shoulders slumped beneath his leather duster, quickly covered by a shrug. 

       ".... fine." He said, all nonchalance. " -- But if you buy me  **Menthols** , I'll shove them somewhere the Sun really  _doesn't_  shine." 

                           Apollo couldn't help it, he  ** _grinned._**


End file.
